Yo, Houndawg
by phoenical-maniax
Summary: A crack!fic based on the following summary, which was originally used by someone else in the HP fandom. Hagrid accidentally kills Proff.Dumbledor, and tries to act like it never happened for fear of returning to Azkaban. Contd. within.


**Title:** Yo, houndawg  
**Author: **Punkheid  
**Summery:** (Written for the LiveJournal community perposterice's "summery" challenge - an amusing summary, already in use somewhere around the fandom, is used as a prompt.) "Hagrid accidentally kills Proff.Dumbledor, and tries to act like it never happened for fear of returning to Azkaban. Everything seems to be going well until Harry, Ron and Hermione find out.Should they tell on their longtime friend or keep quiet?"  
**Rating:** PG-13 I think. I've never been too good at rating :S  
**Warnings:** Mild squick. Surfer fun hohoho. -cough- Stereotyping.  
**Betaed by:** The fandabulous LiveJournal user, la fono

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Had Albus Dumbledore been alive he would have been able to impart to you something extremely interesting, useful and fun to tell fellow party-goers. Googly-eyed, they would have surrounded you and listened with a strange mix of horror and fascination. But it's extremely unlikely that they would have wished to prove the tale to be true, though you never know with some people. However, Albus is far from living, perhaps thankfully, if only for the safety of bicycle pumps, which will now rest innocently in those handy little hooks specially designed for them, rather than holes they have no business being near. Hagrid wasn't as clued up on the unsuitability of these holes as you might expect. But then, desperate times...

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The air was chill, curling in through the open doors of the Entrance Hall and glittering against the snow outside. Hagrid brushed the ice crystals from his beard and hefted the Christmas tree again. He was beginning to sweat in an interestingly gloopy manner. His chest hair, which, whenever his sweat began to trickle into it, adopted an unusual rubber-like texture, was bouncing awkwardly against his shirt. But Hagrid wasn't going to let this strange sensation distract him from his duty. Unfortunately, this dedication didn't extend to watching where he was going, so the obligatorily handily placed banana peel had the desired effect of Fate, who seems to take enjoyment from watching people slip on pieces of biodegradable yellow substance. As Hagrid flew screaming down the stairs on his Christmas tree surfboard, Peeves, comrade of Fate, chuckled malevolently and watched with his invisible friend as the headmaster strolled cheerfully towards the school doors and his doom, which was zooming, and smelt pleasantly of fresh sap. There was an interesting squelching noise.

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Three hours later Hagrid could be found holding a small, red, and previously average bicycle pump, one end of which was inserted into a puffy headmaster who was propped against a puncture kit, and pondering rather manically his new-found surfing skills.

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Another ten minutes afterwards, the headmaster was superglued to the head table's central seat. And Hagrid was frantically muttering. All his thoughts pointed to one obvious, but very difficult to accept, conclusion. There was only one option left - emigrate to Barbados.

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Harry, Ron and Hermione discovered within the next month that it was remarkably hard to track down a giant. In amongst the trauma of their fruitless searches Ron revealed his camper side, Hermione became Herman and Harry discovered the usefulness of terrified silences. These however, as of course you know, are everyday occurrences in the universe of Harry Potter, so these tales will receive no detail. Instead, we will jump to the proud moment when Hagrid was spotted doing something strange with a razor on a stretch of sparkling sand.

"Oh Harry sweetling!" gasped Ron, grabbing Harry's arm frantically.

"Harry love!" yelped Herman, clutching his hair.

"Duuuuude," Hagrid drawled, tugging his goatee and leaning casually against the railing, "What brings you here, ma homies? I'm like, so totally stoked to see ya!"

"Hermy!" wailed Ron, leaving the small protection of a gaping Harry in favour of latching onto Herman's trembling arm.

Hagrid was now shaving his left leg and talking about aerodynamics.

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As Hagrid made incredible squeaking noises by polishing his leg with a cloth soaked in Brasso, the trio did the fantastic human invention of studiously ignoring upsetting information wonderful justice, and three hawkers braided fluorescent thread into Hagrid's bleached mane, the previously un-noticed muscle-bound Texan who fondly addressed Hagrid as "Haggy" waxed Hagrid's surfboard for him. Occasionally Hagrid would make an enthusiastic comment like:

"Maaaan, I'm like, so totally one with the ocean dude!"

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As Haggy executed a perfect layback, Harry, Ron and Herman thudded defeatedly and unconsciously onto the sand, and Xtreme (our favourite gamekeeper's Texan pal) scratched his waxed chest, shrugged and struggled into his zipperless wetsuit, far away the wind buffeted a happily smiling balloon with a silver beard, which happened to be attached to the Gryffindor tower. They knew it would have been what he wanted. And passing crows were even kind enough to leave him their lunches. Already digested for super easy absorption.


End file.
